


Speak Low

by sundaystyle



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Eleventh Doctor Era, F/M, Gen, Holography, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 13:49:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2070573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundaystyle/pseuds/sundaystyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is angry with her, angry for promising to be with him forever and still choosing the selfish path. He is angry with himself, for forcing her to choose the selfish path- pushing her away. He is angry with himself, for being selfish to want her to himself, knowing the power those words held. That makes him angrier with himself. Well, nothing new there. He is always angry with himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speak Low

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Billy Holiday-Speak Low(Bent Remix)

The last time he sees Rose, it's a time which never happened.

It breaks his heart(s), the way she stares at him. Hollow, piercing... and he just sits there, staring at her. Because, really, what else can he do? But to stare. Oh, his memory hasn't been failing him. He knew that if he closed his eyes right that moment he could still see her, down to each detail. But he can't bring himself to look away, it would have been easier had she been a weeping angel.

His TARDIS knows. A rush of warmth passes through his mind, almost comforting, but mostly painful. Rose is staring back at him. Hollow, piercing.

"Hi." He finds his voice, almost broken, but composed. He braces himself to see a familiar smile, which always followed after his greeting, he was used to it, he waited for it.

The last time he saw Rose smile, was too many ticks ago.

"Hi." It's her voice, it's almost her voice, and he holds back a sob because it could have been Rose. But she doesn't smile. It's just a greeting, broken, matching the hollowness of her gaze.

Doctor wants to reach out to her, to hold her, but his fingers stay where they are.  
 _  
speak low when you speak love  
_  
He remembers the way her hand felt around his. Linking their fingers and tugging him into a new adventure, tugging his heart closer to hers.

When she first met him, he knew what loneliness was. He knew how to deal with it. He knew how to live with it.  
When he first met her, she taught him that he didn't need to be lonely. He didn't have to be lonely. He had her.

She was young. She didn't know the wonders of the universe, there was so much he wanted to show her, teach her, tell her.

He never got to tell her the only thing most important.

His last words were slow one tock too much. And so the letters died on his lips.

 _our summer day withers away too soon, too soon  
_  
His hand is a fist near his mouth, supporting his chin, his nails digging into his palm as he drinks in the sight before him. It's so her, it's painful and full of hope at the same time. But he knows that he can't get drunk in this perverse reality.

Rose just stands there, as if waiting for him to make a move.

He gulps. Had it been some other time, he'd let the sentences flow like the river, one word after another, jumping between subjects as if he'd been the author of many books -and in some worlds, he was-, and the summary of every history is hinted at while he dances around the console, ticks and tocks and nods and plops and kicks and stomps and thuds. Always ready for a new adventure, never stopping.

And her voice would have been the music to his story. Her laughter the only thing he was fishing for. Maybe also a compliment or two. Or three.

But now, the notes are too far apart. Silence, more than welcomed.

"Doctor..."

_our moment is swift, like ships adrift, we’re swept apart, too soon_

The flow of time was not the same for time lords. He could see all that was, all there is, all there will be. He should have seen it, anyway.

There is a garden in his TARDIS, which he never dares step into. The first time he tumbled through the door that led him there, the garden was full of buds. It wasn't yet ready to welcome spring, and he dismissed the grayness of the weather, matching it to his mood as he stepped outside, heading for where he originally intended to go. The second time, his TARDIS tricked him. He had been running away for too long and she wanted to show him something beautiful, somewhere safe, a place where he could be alone and unashamed, for Time Lords had feelings too. She left his mind so he could be on his own.

He thought it was cruel.

A garden full of roses, as beautiful as a rose can get, but not as beautiful as a Rose he knows.

He needed to blame himself without anyone interrupting to say he wasn't to blame. And the TARDIS gave him the best spot to.

It was one of the rare times the Doctor had lost the sense of time.

The third time, he stepped into the garden voluntarily, but the roses had died.

_love is a spark, lost in the dark too soon, too soon._

He still saves the Earth. Sometimes. Other planets? Rarely. The universe? Only when he has to. He knows one day he will have to let go, he is not immortal, and he decides that pulling away now is a good idea to let them fight for themselves, deal with the events as they are. He does what he was raised to do.

He watches.

He watches as a small, sandy planet withers, invaded by an alien race claiming it to be their new home- but never giving it the care it needs. Had he stepped in, he could have shown them the way. Had he stepped in, things would still end the way they did. He found it meaningless, without anyone by his side to see the wonders of the universe. Without anyone to show, there was no need to delay what evidently was going to happen.

He stares at his hand, and curiously wonders about the last time his hand will shine with light.

He stares at Rose, and curiously wonders about the last time she will close her eyes.

Rose only stares back.  
 _  
i feel wherever i go  
that tomorrow is near,  
tomorrow is here and always too soon,  
_  
He is thankful, for his memories, for TARDIS's memories, to keep her safe. He slams his feet against the console and the TARDIS kicks him back mentally- but she knows him too well, and she knows what he needs.

He lets out an agonizing cry, a mix of anger, frustration, sadness and...something more. He turns his back and wants to walk away.

"I'm sorry."

He can't turn to look at her, but his own confession leaves him speechless, figuring out the emptiness he was feeling for so long. The one thing missing in his regeneration. He had died alone, he was meant to deal with loneliness, he had to know how to live like a lonely man.

He is angry with her, angry for promising to be with him forever and still choosing the selfish path. He is angry with himself, for forcing her to choose the selfish path- pushing her away. He is angry with himself, for being selfish to want her to himself, knowing the power those words held. That makes him angrier with himself. Well, nothing new there. He is always angry with himself.

"I have to let you go."

His voice is hoarse, and not even he believes that he will do it, yet he thinks he needs to say it out loud.

He turns again, to face Rose, small, slow steps taking him right next to her, right where he thought he belonged. And she watches him.

He wants to touch her badly, wants to see her smile back, wants to hear her voice.

"Doctor..."

It's Clara's voice.

He drops his head, and lets the hologram go.  
 _  
time is so old and love so brief  
love is pure gold and time a thief.  
_


End file.
